


Absence

by NohrianScum (OrderOfRevan)



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Character Study, Creative License, F/M, Gen, Hoshidan Siblings, Nohrian Siblings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-04-25 19:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14385876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrderOfRevan/pseuds/NohrianScum
Summary: As different as day and night, as warm and cold, as spring and autumn.Perhaps one is just the other, but in the absence of light and heat.Perhaps one is just the other, but in the absence of love.





	1. Worship

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken quite a bit of liberty with this setting, so I simply ask that you bear with me as I find my bearings while playing with these characters and this world. I wanted to draw on some of the darker themes I saw to craft something a little bit different from what the game represents, so I'll admit this probably isn't want a lot of you are expecting. 
> 
> Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this exploration into these two characters. 
> 
> In spite of it all, I adore them both and am especially grateful for their assistance in ridding me of my writer's block.

The shrine was utterly quiet other than the sound of his bare feet padding against the woven tile as he approached the shape at the end of the room where it sat in its wooden cupboard, the silver inlaid on the doors twinkling in the candlelight. He did not meet the eyes of their Great God’s likeness, though he could feel the topaz stones boring into him regardless of the simple cotton kimono he wore, a sure testament to his devotion.

An eternity spanned the moments it took him to travel the length of the narrow room and kneel before the effigy. Bowing low he pressed his forehead to the floor, a single strand of his carefully restrained mane falling into his eyes before he could straighten himself, reaching out to light the remaining candles and bathe the room in fire-warm glow.  

There were many gods that inhabited the land, spirits in every rock and tree, powerful beings for whom the wind itself was the breath of life. Gods of fire, of death and life, but none so great as the Dragon of the Dawn, whose eyes warmed the earth and brought life to all the land, the god to whom he had dedicated his life and his blade. 

The god from which he had descended. 

Raising his head he finally met the blazing topaz eyes, gaze never faltering as he prepared the incense. Its scent alone made him feel at peace as he went through the steps of his practiced ritual, preparing for meditation where he would pray, waiting for something to stir deep within him. 

After all, he had been beset by uncertainty as of late.

An uncertainty not befitting the heir of the great Kingdom of Hoshido, the man to whom the title of Dynast would one day fall. He could scarce afford these feelings when he was already seeing to many of the administrative duties his Mother-Regent had formerly performed, duties that his own father no doubt had little difficulty accomplishing. 

These were things he should have taught his son, lessons he had been rendered unable to impart the moment the breath of life had been stolen from his lungs by the dark blade of those damnable Nohrian monsters.

And that had not been all he had lost on that day. 

Pushing such bitter feelings away, he breathed deeply of the incense instead and bowed low to the ground once more. The turbulence of his soul was slowly quieted, the avalanche of his emotions transforming itself into a trickling stream as his thoughts faded into the hush of the room and his blood began to sing with the ancient song of the Dawn Dragon. 

It was a relief, as it always was, to lose himself to that old song, to become one with the humming brilliance of his ancestors. Souls as bright as the light, churning in some distant field filled with wildflowers, pagodas shrouded in mist rising in the distance, their tips touching the apex of the cloudless, blue sky. Here he was at rest, none of the thoughts that nagged him in his day to day life weighing him down, their darkness unable to mire him in unease. 

For once Ryoma was at peace, the only peace he could find in life consumed by war and conflict.

* * *

The vaulted ceilings swallowed his footsteps and spat them back out at him, amplified tenfold until he could hear nothing but his own boots against the polished stone floors of the cathedral. Empty pews did little to mask the noise, relief filling him when he at last slipped into the first row, clasping his gloved hands in front of him, staring at the cracks in the black leather. 

Dust and mud had gathered there, making him painfully aware of how underdressed he was for this occasion, clad in a simple riding tunic and his scuffed boots. For a moment, he could have sworn the rubies beset in the face of the dark dragon glinted with amusement at his disheveled appearance but he quickly pushed the thought away. 

Instead he tore off his gloves with his teeth, tossing them into the pew beside him before he reached up to tangle them in his own pale locks. Briefly he glanced around, taking in the emptiness of the place, though it was not terribly surprising in the wake of the competition still raging here at Windmire. How could anything be truly sacred anymore when sacrilegious tongues whispered the name of the King, attempting to divert him from the path which he had once so nobly tread? 

Heaving a sigh, he bowed his head, clasping his hands together once more and feeling more respectable before the likeness of his ancient ancestor, at the least. 

Was his presence here profane, he wondered, fair brow creasing with a concern that was becoming a near-permanent fixture on his face. Could he truly lay claim to the birthright of the discerning and fair Dragon of Dusk when his entire world was falling apart around him and he could not even find the words to object with? 

Instinct told him ‘no’, told him that the sins of his fathers were not his own, but he knew that even as he lauded the traditionally Nohrian virtue he could no longer afford to live and die by it as he once had. Too much depended on him, too many burdens had been placed firmly on his shoulders while his father listened to the whispers of his lovers and his advisors, throwing caution to the wind and following the whims of his heart. 

In the process, he had left his eldest to pick up the pieces and hold them together through strength of will alone. 

After all,  _ Katerina’s _ son had all the charm of his mother, had her compassionate and discerning disposition. Who better to symbolize the will of the Nohrian people? Who better to do the  _ actual  _ governing than the young man who was already parent and guardian to his younger siblings?

As soon as the thought came to him, it was chased by guilt, turning his stomach and stinging his eyes. He fought back the sensations, setting his jaw as he looked up from his carefully folded hands and into the face of the Dragon, locking eyes with it as he bit back the words he desperately wanted to speak. 

Slowly he rose to his feet, walking towards the altar. His unkempt blonde hair was  a sweaty mess, half sticking to his face, and though before his riding boots echo had nearly undone him he now barely noticed the noise. Utterly alone in the sanctuary, he felt consumed with the silent strength of the divine force of his ancestor and god, his body pulsing with the thrum of some ancient chord that had never quite resolved. 

There could be no half measures, Xander thought, the pain in his chest refusing to leave hin, intensifying with every heartbeat. 

He must embrace the darkness, or else war and conflict would consume the last vestiges of the family he loved. 

A dragon could do nothing less. 


	2. What Is Enough

The sound of mighty wings beating the air beckoned him and he turned his head just in time to hear hooves meet cobblestone, his sister dismounting with a flurry of energy as she made her way towards him through the press of courtiers. Even amongst their brightly colored silk kimonos she stood out, her slippered feet striking the ground, short, flame-like hair ruffled by the breeze she generated as she ran. 

When she reached him, she nearly leapt into his arms, his hands steadying her as he looked down into her face, split by a wide grin. Her face radiated warmth, strong hands gripping his shoulders with bruising force, considering he was not currently wearing his armor, her entire body trembling with the force of her unrestrained excitement. 

He nearly scolded her for her breach of protocol, but then she spoke and suddenly nothing else in the world mattered. 

“They found her, Ryoma! They found her and they’re bringing her back home!” 

For a moment it was all he could do to grasp her back, locking eyes with her as a powerful breeze shook the trees and pulled more strands of his unruly hair from the tight bun high atop his head. Then the world returned to him, the started look of the courtiers giving the pegasus a wide berth, the way Hinoka trembled under his touch, the frantic sound of footsteps as Takumi charged through the crowd, sandals in his hand, bare feet slapping against the stone. 

“Kamui?” he breathed, barely able to hear his own voice over the rushing of blood in his ears. 

“Kamui,” Hinoka repeated, smile never faltering even as he pulled her into his arms and embraced her. 

It took him a moment to really process the words, for them to sink into his consciousness as they were meant to. How long had he been imagining this day, running through the possibilities in his mind? His chest ached every time he thought of that wide-eyed child, of her round face red and filled with tears as a spectre he could not possibly hope to defeat loomed over her in feathered and furred robes of ebon night and stretched out his hand towards her. 

His innocence had been shattered that day along with any hope at peace between Hoshido and Nohr, but it mattered not.

Not right now.

“Kamui!” he shouted, squeezing Hinoka more tightly and spinning her in circles. “Our little sister!” 

“Kamui?” Takumi muttered just as Ryoma released their sister, his arm still slung around her shoulder, her arm grasping his waist as she laughed, face red, breathless, and tear-streaked. “ _ The _ Kamui? You mean…”

Ryoma reached out his hand to Takumi, watching his younger brother hesitate for a moment, grasping his sandals in white knuckled hands. He seemed to deliberate, his chance cut short by the sound of wood falling to stone as Sakura threw herself into Ryoma’s arms in a flurry of pink and red and white. 

Already, he could feel Sakura trembling, tears of joy flowing freely from her eyes as she sobbed into his side, little arms clutching him as tightly as he could manage. Ryoma’s heart surged with tenderness and he reached out, threading his fingers soothingly through her soft hair, his eyes ever on Takumi, unwavering. 

It took another long moment, but Takumi’s sandals eventually fell to the ground and he walked to Hinoka, who wrapped her arm tightly around him as he buried his face in her shoulder. It was something that would never have happened under normal circumstances, the indignity of it all almost too much to bear in front of the court, Takumi never ceasing to complain about the foul smell of the pegasi, but… 

But right now, none of that mattered. 

His little sister, the girl he had failed to protect, was finally coming home. 

Soon she, too, would be in his arms and his family would be complete once more. The upside down world he had lived in for over a decade would finally right itself and he would be able to tuck strands of errant hair behind little Kamui’s ear, would be able to teach her and instruct her as was his duty and pleasure, as he  _ should _ have been there to do as her elder brother. 

He had missed her childhood, but he could make up for it now. 

After all, her life had surely been hell, so far alone locked away in some place where none could reach her. She had surely been missing them just as greatly as they had been missing her, been longing for the embrace of the family that had long ago been taken from her. 

But that was enough of that sort of thought. 

For now, he would revel in this moment, embrace it wholly, and then he would look towards the future with a new purpose. 

Everything would soon be as it should have been, and the cracks in his family would finally begin to heal. 

That was enough for Ryoma. 

* * *

The door slammed, the sound muffled by the rug that laid across the dark planks of the wooden floor, and -  _ alone _ \- he finally allowed himself a moment of weakness. It was not something he would usually entertain, sitting behind the large, sturdy desk as he always did, attending to this and that while at Windmire, shouldering the duties abdicated to him with his usual stoic certainty and competence. 

After all, he was Crown Prince, and such was his duty. 

That duty was something he could never shed, nor did he want to, not when every trip through the countryside revealed some new modicum of suffering, some manifestation of poverty that he had not previously considered. In a land of quickly fading order, in a place where justice was an illusion, it was the hand of the Crown Prince that had become the law. 

But in moments like these, he could only be human. 

Painfully, failingly, foolishly human. 

He reached up, placing the crown he always wore on the desk in front of him, raking his fingers through his hair, Xander heaved a sigh and stared up at the tiled ceiling. The patterns there were intricate, the pale light of the magic lamp casting them in dim blue light, eventually blurring as his eyes lost focus, hands grasping the wooden arms of his chair tightly. 

Corrin … was dead. 

The report on his desk said so, the witness accounts of Hans and the other soldiers present at the Canyon confirmed the report, and his own eyes… 

His own eyes rejected what he had been told, what King Gar -  _ Father  _ \- What Father had demanded he believe. He had seen Corrin fall, yes, but he had seen something else, a flash of white, the sound of wings beating the night air, the shape of a pale yellow bird lost against the shining surface of the moon. 

It had been barely discernible, something Hans had not noticed above the shouts of victory from the men at the Canyon and the frantic, choking sobs of Elise as she wound her fingers into the mane of her gentle gelding. Camilla’s cry of despair had echoed so loudly that the mountains rumbled distantly in response, but that echo had not reached Leo’s eyes, focused on the gorge as his own had been only moments before. 

When there eyes met, there had been a flicker of recognition but… 

_ But.  _

What could he do? Her staff had come to him, Jakob and Felicia both pale messes, Flora far too calm. Felicia had shaken, sobbed, sunk to her knees and wished she had been there only to be told by her sister that they must be strong and be pulled from the room. Jakob, his fury as silent and deadly as he himself was, said only that he did not believe Lady Corrin to be dead and refused to listen to anything Xander had to say. 

The door slammed in his absence, and here Xander was, feeling weak and ineffectual as he ever had. 

He could not even protect a single person, one of the people most dear to him, when it was his neglect that had earned her their father’s ire in the first place. If he had not been so zealous in protecting Corrin, had not insisted upon making her childhood as Garon-Free as possible, then perhaps she would have known better than to question him. Perhaps then none of this would have happened and he would not be faced with the very real possibility that he would never see his sister again… And that Camilla and Elise may spend the rest of their lives blaming him for their loss. 

As he would, as well. 

Straightening, Xander stared at the woodgrain on his desk, the pattern drawing him back to his body, away from the misty realm of thought and conjecture. To his own surprise, he reached up to find his face wet with his own tears, staring at his fingers, his hands feeling more unwieldy and heavy than they had when he was a boy yet untrained with the blade. 

Perhaps they were heavy with the weight of his failures. 

Dropping them to the desk, where they lay with a heavy thud, Xander stared at the pale hairs on the back of his knuckles and heaved a deep sigh. 

If Corrin were still alive -- And she  _ must  _ be, he could not bear to think of losing her -- He would do whatever he could to find hern and set this right. 

Regardless of what his father wanted, and regardless of the danger to himself. 

He owed it to his siblings to try. 


	3. Blood and Fabric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't supposed to have a continuity or a chain of events... 
> 
> And yet here we are. 
> 
> If you like this story, could you do me a favor and leave a comment telling me what you like about it? If you can't comment, kudos are always fine. I want to know if people are enjoying my work. 
> 
> Regards, 
> 
> "Rev"

The drums sounded, beat pounding across the cobblestones. People swayed in place around the town square as the band played, the cheerful hum of the strings nearly lost beneath the sounds of conversations and laughter. 

At the base of the Dawn Dragon’s great statue in the square sat Ryoma, watching a veritable sea of citizens mill about, traveling from stall to stall. There were games to be played, food to be eaten, songs to be sung, and a dance to be enjoyed, one that would set the market alife with swathes of colorful fabric and the sound of clapping. 

It was hectic, but it filled him with a sense of peace that he seldom felt these days, though it was offset somewhat by the sense of melancholy that hung in the humid air. Royma dearly wished he could shrug it off, shed it and join the weaving crowd of people as he usually would, that his soul could be as light as his people’s… But he was filled with a lingering sense of disquiet. 

His only real solace right now was the fact that Kamui -  _ Corrin _ , he corrected himself - seemed just as withdrawn. That, too, should have bothered him, but… But it instead validated his worries. If someone who had as much experience with Nohr as she did felt concern, then certainly his own concern wasn’t misplaced. 

Pulling a knee to his chest, he settled his chin on it, glancing briefly towards Corrin as she took a seat beside him, legs hanging off the edge of the statue’s massive base. In her kimono, long, black hair drawn up into a bun high atop her head, she looked as she was always meant to - as poised and composed as her Hoshidan cultural heritage asked of her. 

Still, worry creased her brow, her lips drawn into a tight frown. Her knuckles were pale where she grasped her parasol, and when she finally looked at him it was with an expression of heartbreaking worry, one that he sorely wished he could erase. 

“It’s beautiful, you know,” she said at last, her quiet voice breaking the silence between them, barely audible over the joyous din. “You grew up in a wonderful place, Ryoma.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, leaning forward with the posture of a rider, not the posture of a princess. “You all did.” 

He was half-tempted, for a moment, to mention Nohr but held his tongue. 

Mentioning Nohr around Corrin only seemed to increase her melancholy, and though he didn’t understand how she could miss being locked up in a tower like a mythical maiden he also had no desire to worsen her mood. Today was supposed to be a happy day, a day for her to take in all Hoshido had to offer, something the entire family hoped -  _ prayed  _ \- would spark some latent memory in her and return her to them fully. 

So Ryoma nodded, a small smile touching his lips as he turned his face away from her to look back into the crowd, watching Takumi spin Sakura around in a circle, the two of them laughing loudly. 

“Hoshido is home. No matter how far away I am,” Ryoma said, gesture all around them, “I will always take a small part of her with me. There is no other land as fair in all the world.” 

“Everyone is so happy,” she muttered, leaning forward even further, resting her elbows on her knees. “I didn’t know people could be so content. And there’s so much food, more than enough for everyone. What do you do with all the extra? I can’t imagine anyone eating all of that on their own.” 

Ryoma opened his mouth, suddenly uncertain of how to respond, rubbing his hands together as he let out a long sigh. “We dispose of it,” he said quietly, “or feed it to the animals.” 

He watched shock shatter across her face, her eyes going wide as she stared up at him, though she tried to hide it by reaching up to tug idly at her hair restraints, “you just get rid of it? Don’t you have -- I mean, in Macarath there were always…” 

She sighed heavily, her head dropping backwards, her eyes closing, “There were horses with more meat on their bones than children because… Horses are important. Children just cost you money and they don’t give you anything back.” 

The words were impossible to believe, and hatred surged in Ryoma, not for the first time. That anyone could allow their people to suffer without impunity was an impossible scenario, one he still had difficulties visualizing; even more so when plump and happy children ran past them, playing a game of tag with Hinoka and Azura, who trotted after them at a leisurely pace, laughing. 

“You’re here now,” Ryoma said firmly. “Nothing there can hurt you again, Little Sister.”

Her head snapped to him and for a moment her eyes spit fire, anger licking at him like the flames of one of the Fire Tribesman’s conjuring. Ryoma couldn’t help but wonder what she would do, watching her grasp the parasol like a blade, wondering if she had been more than the mere prisoner she claimed to be. 

The prisoner they had all assumed and taken for granted that she was. 

But it was gone a moment later, he rage doused, grip on the parasol loosening as her lips parted with a silent exhalation of breath, “my servants and my friends are still there, High Prince, and I’m never going to see them again. I can’t help but miss them and worry about them. It seems unfair, that I’m here while they might be starving on the streets without the work I provided them.” 

The words hit him harder than he would have liked, empathy welling within his stomach for the Nohrians who would likely see him dead without any hesitation. There were innocent people there, of course, people like the staff who had served her under the Tyrant King’s orders and the starving street children that Corrin described, but innocent did not mean they were not desperate. 

And desperate people did foolish, often ruthless, things in order to obtain a single modicum of security. 

He had seen it before in the eyes of the few Nohrian refugees who had managed to escape across the border. 

And it was something Corrin might never have seen in her stone and ice forged tower. 

Still, how could he tell her she was wrong?

Her heart was clearly in the right place, and she had not yet adjusted to her new life here, her life with her true family. 

The same family she seemed ever distant from, as if she were still in that far away tower. 

Ryoma’s throat grew tight.

Nohr ruined everything good it touched. 

“We can attempt to get a message to them,” Ryoma said at last, embracing the ancient method of compromise. “Perhaps they can join you here, should they wish. We would not turn away any who have proven their loyalty to you.” 

His words did seem to lighten the mood and Corrin smiled at him, staring for only a moment longer before she pushed herself to her feet and held out her hand to him, parasol flung idly over one shoulder. 

“Come on, High Prince. Hinoka said you can show me how to play some of the carnival games,” she grinned easily, only a bit of the haunted expression still lingering in the depths of her eyes. “Show your little sister how Hoshidans party.”

Gingerly, Ryoma took her hand, vowing to dispel those ghosts from inside of her one day. 

For now, all he could do was take things one day at a time and pray that one day she remembered.

* * *

It was all noise, all static, and he hated it. 

The constant clinking of glasses, of metal against ceramic, the persistent dim of conversation as it drifted about him, punctuated by the occasional sound of a chair scraping against the tiles. He was in no mood to entertain this, to entertain Iago’s wild stories of his youthful escapades and the cooing of countless women as they attempted to gain his attention with the assumption that he was anything like his father. 

As if he would harm his own children in such a way.

As if he would ever give himself completely to someone he did not love, was not utterly devoted to. 

Resisting the urge to stab the slab of meat before him with his carving knife, Xander instead dug the fingers of one hand into his thigh, the pain drawing his mind away from the inevitable reality that he would one day have to forgo childish concepts such as love and romance. There was really no doubt about it, of course, not when he could help stabilize Nohr with a strong marriage, but he would stall as long as he could, if only to cling to the last vestiges of his free will long enough to give himself time to mourn.

Something he should be doing rather than going about the motions of living as if Corrin had not been taken from them. 

A gentle hand on his arm drew him from his stewing, his head turning just enough to meet Camilla's eye. He could see the concern creasing her features as she dropped her hand to lace their fingers together underneath the table, briefly squeezing to provide him with reassurance. 

Xander did not pull away, squeezing back, his chest swelling with…

Well, he didn’t know what.

Not entirely.

It was not a good emotion, but it was coupled with a sense of relief that he had not felt in a long time. Months of pouring over reports, looking for any indication of what might have happened to Corrin, months of combing through the events in his mind with a fine-toothed comb only to come up with nothing. 

He tried as much as he could not to let it compound his belief that he was a failure, but with every passing day he lost hope. 

So much so that he wondered if he had simply seen Corrin’s soul leaving her body as she died. 

A tap on his shoulder made him jump ever so slightly, twisting his body to gaze up into the face of Laslow, standing behind him with his typical smile plastered on his face. There was something, though, something in the depths of his eyes, that made Xander drop his sisters hand and stand immediately. Bowing, he excused himself, ignoring the feeling of his father’s furiously cold eyes on his back as he walked from the long banquet hall into corridor outside, grateful when the doors shut behind them and the noise finally stopped. 

“I certainly hope this is good news, Laslow,” he said, turning towards his retainer, keeping his voice low so that any passing servants could not hear him; he had learned long ago not to speak too loudly in the halls of Windmire Castle. “If it isn’t, I’m afraid it will be both our heads on the line in the eyes of my father.” 

“Would I ever let you down, Your Highness?” Laslow asked with an easy grin, pulling something from the satchel at his side, a sheath of what looked to be paper; a bit worse for the wear, perhaps, but legible. “This is a report from Niles and Odin at the border. Their intelligence indicates that there was a recent festival to celebrate the return of a certain Princess Kamui to the Capitol. Apparently, she was stolen from the royal family there some number of years ago out of spite.”

_ Kamui.  _

Xander’s grip on the papers tightened and he looked into Laslow’s eyes, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for the words he needed to express the sudden shock that twisted his stomach. It had been years since he had heard that name, years since his father had brought a trembling child with black hair and a trembling lip to Windmire, a morose little girl who had clung to him when he’d taken her sweets that night to try and provide her with some form comfort. 

He could still recall the tears she’d shed into his shirt, could feel the texture of her thick hair beneath his hands as she shuddered and sobbed against his form. 

It was something Xander knew she did not remember, but… 

“Corrin.” 

For a moment a moment all was quiet, save for the sounds of stringed instruments and voices from beyond the heavy wooden doors. Slowly, the creaked open, Camilla stepping out into the hallway, glancing between the two of them, her violet eye sparkling with deep concern as she stepped towards Xander’s side, leaning ever so slightly against his shoulder. 

Her expression softened when she looked up into his face, though confusion still furrowed her brow, her tongue darting out to lick her lips, as if tasting her words before she spoke them. “Is something the matter, Xander? You left so suddenly that I was worried…”

His eyes fell back towards the papers, staring at the handwriting, handwriting he had seen countless times before on countless other reports -- liaisons between Leo’s retainers and his own. He trusted their word, trusted them with his life, for they had proven themselves again and again in that respect, prove their loyalty, and now… 

“She’s alive, Camilla,” he said, his voice cracking ever so slightly, though he quickly swallowed the emotion down, not wishing to lose face. 

Not in front of Laslow. 

“Corrin?” Camilla asked, her voice so quiet that Xander was afraid she might break, turning slowly towards her, cupping her face with his hand briefly before he drew her into an embrace. 

“Yes,” he muttered, stroking her hair as he dropped the papers to the floor, where they landed with a thud, feeling familiar wet begin to soak his shirt. 

How many times would his siblings shed their sorrows into his chest?

How many times would he have to do this until he could see them happy? 

“Yes, Camilla, Corrin is alive. She is alive, and we….” he took a deep breath, bowing his head, pressing his face into her hair, which smelled of lavender. “We are going to go find her,” he muttered softly against the dome of her skull, “we will bring her back home.” 

“Who took her?” Camilla growled, her chest vibrating, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt with furious savagery. “I swear that I will see them bleed, Xander. I will watch them bleed out with my own eyes if they harmed a single hair on her head.” 

He hesitated, not wanting to tell her.

It could spark a war, what Hoshido had done. Father would find countless ways to justify kidnapping the former princess of Hoshido, a myriad of lies. Or perhaps he would simply tell the truth, that he was a broken man, that he had taken her in grief to replace the family that Hoshido’s negligence and cruelty during the great continental plague had cost him. 

Either way, he would find a way to invade. 

Perhaps, Xander realized with a pang, that had been his intention all along.

Perhaps he had simply been biding his time, creating the perfect generals for his perfect army. 

More people would die, and all because a tragic chain of events that no man could have prevented had turned noble and proud King Garon into… 

Into what he was. 

“The Hoshidans,” he said at last, holding his sister more closely, no longer sure if it was for her comfort or for his own, “she was taken by the Hoshidans.” 

Her growl turned into a sob, and it was all Xander could do just to hold her and do as his father had done before him and bide his time. 


	4. Shatter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll do a Xander chapter next time. This time I just kind of wanted to get this out of my head and sort of show this scene the way I'd always envisioned it in my head.

She was not supposed to be here. 

The thoughts burst in his head like the sounds of enchantments springing from the fingertips of the Diviners, Raijinto’s static traveling up his arm and leaving his entire body numb. The sight of her, dressed in the dirty, ragged clothing they had found her in, breastplate gleaming Nohrian-black in the reflective, eerie light of the night mists, stole his breath from his lungs. 

“Kamui--” 

The name, her  _ actual _ name, came to his lips unbidden as Hinoka’s footfalls thudded into the grass only a stone’s throw away. He would know her footfalls anywhere, sure but surprisingly light on her feet for someone with such a large personality, such a dominating presence. But of course it would have to be that way, wouldn’t it? 

The pegasi would never accept her otherwise. 

“Stop,” Corrin said, standing in between Ryoma and the helmeted Paladin, who had frozen in place as though ice had grown from his legs and rooted him to the ground. “Ryoma, this is insane!”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, the only words he could manage as his numb fingers twitched along Raijinto’s hilt. “You were supposed to remain safe in Shirasagi Palace.” 

“You’re fighting Nohr!” she objected. “How could you possibly ask me to stay behind and do nothing when I knew that war was going to break out? We need to talk about this! We can’t -- You can’t -- There are people in Nohr, Ryoma!” 

“There were people in Hoshido, too! People the Nohrians killed with their assassins!” He gestured wildly, motioning towards the Paladin, whose grip on the sword he’d seized from a fallen soldier tightened. “Men like these are trained to fight and die, and they know full well what they’re getting into and what they are fighting for!”

Briefly, Corrin’s eyes flickered over her shoulder, red eyes traveling up the man’s wicked looking armor as surprise spread across her features. Had she not realized he was there? 

Hinoka reached them, skidding to a stop beside him, her riding shoes leaving treads torn into the grass. She was red faced and frantic, shapes of soldiers battling dancing in the mists about them, the sounds of exertion, of death and dying, ringing clearly in Ryoma’s ears even above the constant high-pitch humming of Raijinto. 

“Corrin, get away from him!” Hinoka shouted, the sound startling their sister back to life, though the Yato still hung harmlessly at her side. “You have no idea what that Nohrian Scum might do to you!” 

It was the name that seemed to send the Nohrian Paladin cascading back into motion, tossing the simple steel blade to the ground with a fury that Ryoma had not noticed in his earlier movements. Before, when he had dismounted and taken up his fallen comrade’s sword and burden, there had been purpose and aggression behind every parry, feint, and strike of his weapon against Ryoma’s. 

Now there was more than purpose, his hand reaching out to the hilt of his own weapon, the sound of metal against metal singing as he pulled it from its sheath and pointed it directly at Ryoma’s chest. Static traveled up the back of his neck at the sight of it, sickly black metal pulsing with a hunger that Ryoma himself could feel vibrate through his very bones. 

He fell into position, Raijinto crying out in satisfaction as he charged and white met black as the helmeted stranger blocked the first of his blows. The man set a brutal rhythm, the supernatural might of the blade fueled by his anger, Ryoma needing to summon resolve from the deep well in his own stomach to match him blow for blow. 

His arms vibrated with the force of the strikes, his blows seeming to glance away from the man’s blade as if they were paper, his shock leaving him at a disadvantage until --

A shout and then Corrin stood between the two of them, her heels leaving deep impressions in the dirt as she caught the blow with her blade. He could see pain in her eyes as she stared up into the masked face, the man immediately stumbling back and dropping his guard when he saw her before him, leaving him open to Ryoma’s attack --

An attack he would have surely delivered had Corrin not turned to him, tears in her eyes, before she turned back towards the man, who was ripping of his helmet with his free hand. Just like the sword, he threw it to the ground and immediately surged towards Corrin, Ryoma’s entire body going rigid at the sight, regret nearly making him violently ill, but --

Corrin threw herself at him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, the sound of their breast plates colliding ringing in his ears. Blonde ringlets of hair plastered to his red face, Ryoma saw surprise flicker across that expression, then relief as he buried his face in her flowing pink hair and embraced her with his free arm. 

Next to him Hinoka seemed primed to attack, but he reached out and grasped her arm firmly as the sound of footsteps from behind them and Sakura’s surprised gasp alerted them to the arrival of their siblings. Takumi’s face was just as red as Hinoka’s, filled with rage, his grip turning white knuckled on Fujin Yumi as his eyes bored into the Nohrian’s form with the same vitriol Ryoma kept locked away in his gut. Sakura simply looked beside herself, her lip trembling as she surely bit back tears, looking to him for guidance just as Corrin and the Nohrian broke away. 

“Little princess,” the man said, his eyes only for her in that moment, all the rage Ryoma had felt behind his blows replaced with an aching tenderness. “I nearly didn’t recognize you. What… What happened to your hair? Your eyes? You’ve changed.”

“I want to explain, big Brother, but so much has happened,” Corrin said, the words ‘big brother’ doing something to Ryoma’s heart that he couldn’t entirely put words to. “What are you doing here? Isn’t it dangerous for you to be on the battlefield?”

The words earned her a warm chuckle, wicked black clawed gauntlet gently capturing the waves of his sister’s hair, “nonsense, little princess. I’m a warrior as much as I am anything else. Besides…” his smile only deepened as he dropped his hand back to his side, more dark shapes emerging from the mists behind him. “We had to come find you. Together.”

Ryoma heard them before he saw them, through their words were a jumble of Nohrian that he could not discern when they overlapped in such a way. Three figures, two women and another man, three with hair and blonde as that of the knight, the other with ringlets of dark, violet hair that framed her face and covered one eye. Their armor, too, looked wicked, their eyes lighting on he and his siblings with absolute hatred or seething resentment even as they looked upon Corrin with the utmost tender care. 

And it was then that the entire board seemed to be revealed to him, then that he nodded to Takumi, the sound of Fujin Yumi’s bow string singing to life ripping Corrin’s attention from the Nohrian Royal Family. 

“Corrin, step back,” Ryoma commanded. “These people are not your friends, they are --”

“Her family,” the violet haired woman said with sweet venom on her lips, “which is more than I can say for you, darling. Why, you look like someone scrubbed your hair against a washing board and forgot to hang you out to dry.” 

“They have lied to you,” Ryoma said, talking over her. “Whatever you think they are, whoever you think they are, they are Garon’s royal bastards.” 

The littlest woman looked wounded, her eyes going wide, the other blonde man immediately stepping in front of her with fire in his eyes, though when the Paladin held up his hand all three of his siblings stilled. Corrin didn’t look sure what to do, gaze frantically darting between Ryoma and the Nohrian General, who placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed softly as he turned the full intensity of his gaze onto Ryoma and his siblings. 

“I am no bastard, Hoshidan,” he said in a low voice, unnervingly calm and all the more deadly for it, “I am Crown Prince Xander of Nohr, and I will not tolerate your insult to my family.” 

“Your father deserves the insult if he would breed simply to create warriors fit to lead his army,” Ryoma said, gesturing towards the other three, “and kidnap children from the streets.”

“Ryoma--” Corrin breathed, taking a step forward, genuine anger flickering across her normally calm face. “Ryoma, stop it. These people took care of me when no one else would. They love me, Ryoma, just as you do. You…” She shook her head violently, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”    
“You’re the one kidnapping children,” said a cold voice, the voice of the second blonde man. “Or have you forgotten Azura? But of course. I forget myself. The mighty Hoshidans could never be guilty as a crime, as just as they are.”

“You shut the hell up,” growled Takumi from Ryoma’s side, “or I’ll put an arrow right between your eyes. There’s certainly enough room between them to make a proper target.” 

“Besides,” Hinoka growled, taking a step forward, “Azura is happier as our sister than she ever could have been as yours. I bet she might have even ended up a concubine in your future King’s harem, had we not--”

A wave of energy ripped apart the ground, sending rocks and chunks of earth flying in all directions. Shouting for his siblings to scatter, he tucked Sakura under his arm and dove towards the earth, looking up to find the Crown Prince standing before a crater in the earth where his sister had been moments earlier.

“Silence!” the man shouted, swinging his massive black broadsword with complete ease. “I won’t allow you to slander my family any longer! Pick up your sword, High Prince of Hoshido and duel me!” 

“Xander,” Corrin breathed softly, stepping towards him, “Xander, please. Father sent assassins into Hoshido. He killed their mother. My…  _ My _ mother.”

Eyes the color of an alchemist’s poison churned before he turned them back to Corrin, his face softening by degrees for her. “Queen Mikoto is dead? I suppose it must be so. The Barrier…” He shook his head, and Ryoma told himself that it could not be regret, that Nohrians were incapable of remorse. 

That they seemed to think they had any right to  _ his _ sister only served to prove it. 

“Enough,” Ryoma growled, his chest rumbling as he gently set Sakura back on her feet, turning his attention, and Raijinto’s sparking tip, towards this Nohrian Scum. “Corrin, step aside while I deal with these pretenders. After this is over, we can all go home and I can instruct on the _ proper _ use of Yato.” 

He could see the conflict on her face the moment he spoke the words and it tore at his soul to see it. More than anything, Ryoma wanted her to make the right choice, to see that these people could not possibly love her as she truly deserved when they had been raised by the man that had deemed it fit to kidnap her after murdering their father in front of her. 

But he could not explain it. 

Ryoma could already see in her eyes how much she adored these people.

How they had brainwashed her and poisoned her against them.

Still, there was struggle, and that struggle meant that she could yet make the right choice.

With a small smile and a nod of his head, he extended his hand towards her. “Come, my dear little dragon, surely you know that we love you and only want the best for you. Your brithright awaits you at my side.”

For a moment she seemed almost ready to heed his words, but a pair of soft words pulled at her attention and broke the spell, turning her eyes back to the golden-haired Nohrian Crown Prince and his deceptively pleading expression.

“Little princess,  _ please _ ,” he repeated, reaching out his own hand before dropping it back to his side. “We are not related by blood, it is true, but we have always loved you. Come home, and let us face father together so that we may end this war as quickly and bloodlessly as possible.”

Corrin looked between them, and Ryoma knew, could feel in his heart before even she did, perhaps, that she would not choose him. 

Slowly, she turned around to face him, and then backed away, backed towards Xander of Nohr, whose hand fell on her shoulder with all the gentle brotherly approval that should have been Ryoma’s to give her. 

And in that moment he knew that nothing would ever be the same, and with that one gesture she had irreparably shattered their family into pieces. 


	5. Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to change the tags since I can't stop this boy's emotions.

She felt fragile against his chest, her body curled forwards as she leaned over the neck of his steed, her fingers tangled loosely in the long, black strands of his glossy mane. He held the reigns with one hand, taking things at a leisurely pace as they set out for Windmire, back across the Spine. With the other, he held her to him, noting how distant she had grown since they had departed from the Hoshidan plains. 

Xander was grateful that she had come back to him -- _ them _ \-- that she had returned to Nohr, but he was also painfully aware of how much of a toll the choice had taken out of her. It was why he had been so firm with Camilla when she attempted to convince Corrin to fly with her, why he had kept Elise from suffocating her with affection, and why he’d ask Leo to entertain their sisters for the time being. 

There would come a time for saccharine affections, for embracing Corrin and holding her close, but now was not that time. 

Now she needed a different form of comfort, and though he didn’t entirely understand why he knew from the way she’d clung to his arm that he must be the one to provide it. 

“Do you think I’ll ever see them again?” Corrin asked, her voice so quiet Xander nearly didn’t hear it. “Ryoma and the others?”

Xander bowed his head, knowing that the answer to that question would likely hurt her… But he had never really been one to lie when it wasn’t completely necessary. Now that she knew, now that she understood, lying to her would only cause her more suffering in the long run, so rather than say the easy thing he tightened his hold on her and nodded. 

“Yes, but when you do they will be your enemies,” he said, feeling her wince in his arms. “I’m sorry. I… I know that it’s not what you wanted to hear.”

She laughed, the sound quiet and broken as she shook her head, glancing at him over her shoulder with red eyes that he still had not grown used to. “It’s the truth,” she said, turning her head around again and staring straight forward. “I know it’s the truth, I just wish… I…” 

Corrin breathed sharply, and he felt something warm and wet spill onto his hand. 

She was crying. 

His heart ached for her, but he knew there was little he could do, so he simply listened. 

“I was afraid that if I didn’t choose you, you’d disappear forever,” Corrin whispered at last, her voice rough. “I heard the way they talked about you and I… I feel like I can convince you all to fight this war honorably. I … I don’t feel like Ryoma  _ ever _ would… He’s too… Too angry…” 

“So you trust us,” Xander said, his chest tightening at the thought. 

“I know you love me, not… Not just the idea of me.” 

Xander didn’t say anything out loud, but he wondered, regardless. He wondered what it had been like for her living in Hoshido these long months and how she had managed to cope with it, being their precious Kamui, returned from barbaric Nohr. 

The Hoshidans were a proud people and must have showered her in praise. 

But she wasn’t Hoshidan any longer, and Corrin knew better than to be proud. 

“We do love you, little princess,” he muttered so that only she could hear. “Nothing you could do will ever change that, and we -- I am proud of you for deciding to come home. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t,” Corrin said quickly, “but you… I saw you, and I just knew… I knew I could never break your heart that way. I can’t even… Remember Ryoma, but you…”

One of her hands covered his and she squeezed his fingers, her breath shuddering as she spoke. “If I left, it … It would have hurt you so much, and I… I care too much about you to leave.” 

He was left with the distinct impression that she wasn’t talking about their family any longer, but him, specifically. It left him feeling… 

He wasn’t entirely certain, to be honest. 

There was no way he could fully describe the way the words made him feel. His stomach churned and his heart clenched as he squeezed her hand in turn, trying to show her that he understood and appreciated the sentiment. Corrin was infinitely precious, a bright light in a world that sometimes felt suffocating, and he was grateful she had returned… 

If only so he never had to raise a hand against her. 

The thought of hurting her was truly nauseating, and he hadn’t the stomach to picture it right now. 

“Thank you for being honest with me,” Corrin said, her voice sending a jolt of surprise through him, the heat of her hand on his own and the feeling of her back pressed against his chest quite suddenly a point of interest where they hadn’t been before. 

“I’m … I’m sorry I wasn’t more honest sooner,” he said honestly, his chest only tightening as he realized what he must be feeling. 

“Don’t be,” Corrin assured him. “Father is a dangerous man. I know that now. It… Isn’t your fault. None of it. I could never blame you for what happened to me when I was a child.”

He sucked in a breath, fighting the urge to press his face into the back of her head and breathe in her scent for a single moment. It was a compulsion, a foolish one, and one he certainly shouldn’t be having when she was his… 

She saw him as a brother. 

“Father is dangerous,” Xander agreed, “as am I, and as you will be, once you learn to bond with your Divine Weapon.” He tried to push the thoughts from his mind and focus on something they had in common, discussions of things that did not have to do with tender emotions of affection that had warped itself into a different shape in her absence. “I’m… Very proud of you, little princess. It takes a great deal to be worthy.” 

“I guess you would know,” she said with a laugh, relaxing ever so slightly, which allowed him to relax, as well, “and thank you. I just… when Queen Mikoto died… I wanted to right the wrongs of this world. I remember feeling so angry and then I…”

She trailed off, and he leaned forward, squeezing her hand again. “You what?” he prompted gently, knowing that witnessing the death of the woman who had given birth to her had been difficult. 

Had he not seen his own mother die? 

“I turned into a Dragon,” Corrin said at last, the words ringing through his mind loud and clear, pieces slowly sliding into place. 

“A Dragon,” Xander repeated, tasting the word. “I… I suppose it’s theoretically possible. You can use the Veins, but… It hasn’t happened in so long…”

“It’s happened before?” she asked, her voice that overeager tone she always adopted when she was learning something new that interested her. 

Xander smiled at the tone, having heard it countless times before when she held sword in hand and he’d shown her a new technique… The memories were good ones, some of his best, just as his memories of Elise, Leo, and Camilla were. Though… Now he felt unmistakably different about them. 

Perhaps he… 

Had for awhile, though that thought was… 

Something best saved for later contemplation. 

“Once, long ago, the royal families of Nohr and Hoshido both possessed the ability, though…” He paused briefly, thinking of the words he wished to use, “though it has long since faded from both bloodlines. I suppose it’s possible you’re just… unique.” 

She heaved a sigh and he could nearly taste the melancholy still lurking underneath her quickly fading enthusiasm, “I’m tired of being unique, Xander.” 

“It’s the burden of command, of what our position demands of us, but…” he shifted their hands, covering hers with his own, noticing as if for the first time how truly small she was. “You will always be Corrin to me.” 

“Promise?” She looked over her shoulder towards him, and as he looked at her face to face, he found himself stuck by her smile, the core of it dancing in her eyes. 

Shaking his head, he smiled back and laughed as he relaxed, simply allowing himself to be with her, grateful to see that some of the pervasive gloominess from earlier was starting to lift. It wasn't perfect - far from it, in fact -- but it was a start, and perhaps she could heal from what had happened to her in Hoshido if he and the others simply gave her enough time and space. 

Time and space that he himself perhaps needed in order to quell these feelings that were beginning to burn inside of him. 

Though when she laced their fingers together and his heart jumped into his throat at the gesture?

He realized that attempting to chase these feelings away now was a futile effort. 

She would never know, even if he found himself in love with her.

That, at least, he could swear. 

“I promise,” he said at last, turning his eyes back towards the road ahead and hoping, somehow, that things would turn out well in the end. 


End file.
